


Something Like Home

by SkankHunt42 (OrderOfWords)



Category: South Park
Genre: "straight" dudes being bros, Angst, Drunken Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Stan's pride gets in the way of anything and everything, kenny knows more than he lets on, past wendy testaburger/stan marsh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-18 19:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17586827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrderOfWords/pseuds/SkankHunt42
Summary: Stan returns home from college for the first time in three years-- with an injury that puts him out of football practice for the whole summer. Returning home means confronting old girlfriends, old friends, and a Super Best Friend with whom he had a falling out with while in college.This is going to be a slow burn, so I hope you're ready for a wild ride.Tags, characters, and ratings will be updated as needed!





	1. Home Sweet Home

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This first chapter is the beginning of many. I will be updating the characters as they appear, as well as eventually changing the rating. I will be updating tags as well. Please enjoy!

     As Stan drove past the old South Park sign for the first time in over three years, it finally sank in that he’d be _going home_.

     He had thought of staying in South Park once he graduated high school, but he and Wendy broke up the night before the homecoming game their senior year. They broke up all the time, but she had made it clear that  it was going to be the last time. Apparently his lack of commitment or something. Who knows what goes on in girls’ heads. He won that game, though. He went home that night and decided to accept an offer from an out of state college. Getting the hell out of South Park sounded like the best idea in the world.

     After going to school for football and getting a free ticket out of said hellhole, he was so busy with sports that he never planned on coming back. Now, after a torn left ACL, he’d been forced to miss the entirety of Summer training. _Awesome._ He would be lucky if he could return after a few months of healing.

     He drove past Butters’ house, then Cartman’s, finally to his parents’. Before turning into the driveway, his eyes scanned the next house down-- Kyle’s.

 _Doesn’t even look like anyone’s home_ , he thought to himself, suddenly realizing that it’s been _three_ years and maybe no one even lives there anymore. During their first year of high school, Kyle’s parents talked about selling their house since the market value on it had gone up or something. Stan still remembers Kyle’s tears when he said it was a possibility.

     Heavily sighing, Stan shut his engine off. Over the past few years, he wondered what happened to Kyle. They had a falling out once they found out they wouldn’t be going to the same college. Kyle said they’d still be Super Best Friends.

     He huffed out a bitter laugh. _Yeah. Right._

     They had sent emails back and forth for a while, but replies started taking longer and longer between the two of them. First it was an email a day, then an email a week, then once every few weeks, and eventually none at all.

     There was a “Happy Birthday, Stan” facebook comment Kyle made on one of his posts about two years ago. That was the last bit of communication they’d had. Stan stopped going on facebook after that.

     He removed the key from the ignition, shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Okay, this is fine. This will be fine.”

     “Stan? Stan!” His father’s voice made him jump and hit his injured knee on the steering wheel.

 

    A bit later, after a ham and cheese sandwich and a few painkillers, he pressed an ice pack  to his knee, tuning in and out of Randy’s monologue unintentionally.

    “--and so they told me it was completely just the fact that I hadn’t pooped in like two weeks. I totally thought it was cancer. Oh and so when I finally _did_ poop again…”

    Stan sighed quietly, just low enough to where he knew his dad wouldn’t notice. His mom had left his dad when he was in high school, so he knew his dad would be dying to tell him all the things he’d missed since their last monthly phone call. Honestly, it sounded like not much new happened in South Park anymore. Or at the very least, his dad didn’t notice anything new or different--not that Randy noticed many things to begin with. In hindsight, he realized, maybe his dad wasn’t the best source of information.

    A short series of buzzes from  his pocket caught his attention, so he pulled out his phone.

 

Veronica [13:32]: Stan love. I heard u left the dorm without telling any1?

Veronica [13:32]: R U ok???

Veronica [13:33]: Call me when u can

 

     Stan was injured in a game two days ago, but of course he was too stubborn to go to the doctor, refusing to admit he was in pain. It wasn't until the last practice, the day before today, that he had shown up limping more than a little bit.  His coach personally escorted him to the doctor where they did x rays and an ultrasound on his knee. Sprained ACL. Coach Barnes said he’d have to miss the Summer training altogether. He’d sped straight home, packed his bags, and was gone before his roommates got home from practice. He didn’t even think to feel bad about not telling Veronica.

 

Veronica [13:39]: i miss u

 

He didn’t reply. He needed to think of  how to tell her. Veronica, one of the newer cheerleaders on the squad, met Stan after practice one day and asked him out. He had just broke it off with one of the basketball girls only weeks before then, so he said okay. That was about two months ago, and things were still working out pretty nicely. He just never kept girls around longer than three or four months. Stan was never too upset when they ended things, because he never put his all into any of those relationships. Football came before girls, and even before football, most things came before girls.

    In any case, Veronica was understanding. As a cheerleader, she was pretty busy herself, but they got to spend time together before or after games. Stan was cool with that.  He wondered if she would still be understanding once she found out Stan left with the intention of not coming back until after summer-- _if he could come back_. He didn’t really know how sports scholarships worked. If he couldn’t be better by Fall, would he have to start paying for school? He groaned, ignoring the still incoming texts as he slipped the phone back into his pocket.

    Randy had opted to drink beer somewhere along the way, apparently, because he was sitting in the living room now, in front of the TV, smiling to himself and humming.

    A fresh beer sat on the table in front of Stan. _Oh,_ he thought to himself, _I’m twenty-two now. I can drink._ What a weird development. He grabbed the bottle in one hand, his crutch in the other. He’d go get the bags from his car later. He was suddenly exhausted.

    Going up and down stairs with crutches proved to be an entirely new experience, and not a good one. It took double the time and triple the effort. Using his good leg to kick his old door open, he managed to get inside before kicking it shut again. He sat in his old desk chair, taking another sip from his beer. He couldn’t help but smile at the picture of him and Kyle on his desk, a framed photo from when they went to Winter Formal their senior year. It wasn’t the picture his mom liked the most.  This one was a little blurry, but in the moment. Kyle wasn’t even looking at the camera. He was looking at Stan.

    They had gone to the dance together, stag of course. Kyle never dated anyone in high school, was always studying or watching True Crime documentaries. He actually didn’t even go to dances, but since Stan and Wendy had recently broken up, he had agreed to go when Stan asked him, no questions asked.

    Stan picked up the photo, laughing a little. He remembered everything from that night, even if the end of the night was a little fuzzy. The photo was taken by Stan’s mom who made them take a picture on the staircase, like some fucking couple, and even though they both rolled their eyes, they went over to the stairs. In high school, they were almost the same height, though Stan was a little taller. When they had gone to stand on the same step, Stan’s two and a half inches annoyed Kyle, so Kyle stood on his tippy toes so they were even. A flash went off but Stan’s mom wanted another picture, so Stan wrapped his right arm around Kyle, throwing his weight on him and making their height back to normal. He had grinned into the camera, laughing, but Kyle turned to look at Stan, right before the flash went off. Kyle’s cheeks are pink in the photo, probably embarrassed for being shorter. They had taken a few more pictures before heading to the dance. “Jeez, I’m surprised she didn’t tell you to have me back by midnight!” Stan had joked, throwing his head back with laughter. Kyle had just smiled in response.

    Stan finished his beer, thinking fondly of that night. Wheeling his chair over to the bed, he plopped down on it, face first. That night he dreamed of pink cheeks and spiked punch.

 


	2. Clean up in Aisle Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan runs into some old faces while grocery shopping for his dad, Bebe is throwing a party and nearly everyone's invited, and Stan's pride gets the best of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter two! I had today off work, so I thought I'd get another chapter out. Enjoy!

     Stan’s eyes opened to complete darkness. He vaguely remembered falling asleep, but not of what he dreamed about. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he held it up above his head, squinting against the brightness.

 

_8 New Messages_

_4 Missed Calls_

_3 New Voicemails_

 

    Stan clenched his jaw, reading through the messages, one was from his roommate who was confused and a little upset that he hadn’t told him he’d left, had noticed most of his crap missing from his dorm room and asking if he could let his girlfriend stay over if Stan wouldn’t be there; three were from his other teammates, concerned about one of their best wide receivers being injured; four were from Veronica, the last one with an all-telling “Stan. We need to talk.”

     He cringed. _Yikes. Proper spelling and punctuation--she must be pissed._ He knew she’d found out from his roommate or his roommate’s girlfriend who happened to be friends with her. Of course she wasn’t happy. He should have told her. He shouldn’t have just left.

     Knowing he’d have to listen to the voice mails sooner or later, he went through them one by one.

     “Call at 15:45 from Veronica. ‘Stan. _Stan,_  are you okay? I’m worried. Call me back.’ End of message.” Stan closed his eyes against the worry that was clear in her voice. He skipped to the next one.

     “Call at 17:19 from Veronica. ‘Fucking _really_ ?,’” the voice that boomed against his ear was a total one-eighty from the girl in the last message, “‘Are you _seriously_ out of state right now? Didn’t even bother telling me, huh? Well _fuck you_ , Stan!’  End of message.” Every word made the ache in his stomach tighten. He would be lucky if she took him back once he got back home. Something in him doubted she would though. He royally screwed up this time.

     He played the last voicemail that probably was the one that woke him up, received maybe ten minutes prior.

     “Call at 20:31 from Veronica,” it began, but no voice came from the line, just background noise. Just before he was about to hang up, he heard a bitter laugh from the other end. “‘Well, damn. You didn’t say you were out of the team. I mean-- any injury or whatever, but who _really_ ever comes back from missing this much practice. I get why you left. You were right. I understand why you wouldn’t want to show your face,’” this voice didn’t hold much emotion. Maybe pity, he realized. After her pause, she began speaking again, having the nerve to sound bored, even. “‘Well Stan, it’s been fun. We both know we won’t have much time together with you out of the game, and that’s even if you _can_ come back. I think we’re done here.’ End of message.”

     Afterward, the system cycled through the regular options of asking if he’d like to repeat or delete the message, but with no response from Stan, the call ended automatically.

     Stan opened his eyes to the darkness of his room once again, his eyes almost burning but not quite. She just broke up with him. But as upsetting as that was, he knew he wouldn’t cry. He’d just have a few more beers and forget all about her-- same as always. Yeah, sure, he liked her, but it seemed she only dated him because he was a football player. He remembered girls like that in high school, too--the ones he dated between his stretches with Wendy. There would be others. He was still sort of pissed he wasted his time with her though.

     A knock came from his door, startling him a little. “Stan? You awake in there?”

     It was his dad. He let out a soft laugh. Who else would it have been?

    “Yeah, what’s up?” he called from his bed, sitting up.

    “I made dinner! Come get it,” Randy called through the door, his footsteps following him back down the stairs.

    That night, he learned two things about the Marsh household-- 1: There wasn’t much in the fridge. Other than a ton of beer, there was literally only ham, cheese, mayo, ketchup, and some jar of something questionable sitting in the door; And 2: His father had clearly given up cooking after his mother left, a realization that just made him sad. He decided he would go to the store in the morning. If nothing else, he could make sure his dad had a decent meal once in a while.

 

\---

     Stan walked out the door the next morning wearing a black t-shirt, blue jeans, and his dark blue and white college letterman’s jacket-- an article of clothing he rarely left home without. Luckily it was summer, since he didn’t bring any of his warmer clothing. He glanced at the Broflovski residence as he left, noticing two cars in the driveway-- some new car as well as  Sheila’s old car in the driveway.

     A sigh of relief escaped him-- so their family still lived there. He wondered also, how Kyle’s parents were dealing with Kyle being away in college for so long, and if they were still together or if they’d split up like Stan’s parents. His thoughts kept going on that line of thought the entire way to the supermarket.

    He’d always wondered if his parents would have stayed together had he lived at home during college. He was sure they would have.

    He placed his single crutch in the cart before carefully making his way toward the store. Before he could walk through the double sliding doors, someone tapped his shoulder. Leaning harder on the cart so he could turn around, he came face to face with a short, smiling blonde guy.

    “W-well hiya Stan!” the voice called out around a big smile. Immediately, Stan recognized him.

    “Dude! Hey Butters!” he managed to smile back, motioning with his head for Butters to follow him inside.

    “Ya know, it’s been somethin’ like, what, two or three years now, huh? We thought you were never coming back! But golly, I sure am glad you decided to come home! Oh gee, it looks like you went and hurt yourself. Is that a crutch in your cart?”

    Stan grabbed some olive oil off of a shelf and placed it in his cart, vaguely wondering who Butters meant by “we”.

    “But anyhow, I know a few of you fellas went to college but I stayed here because my parents said I had to stay and help out, otherwise I woulda been grounded. Gee, I mean, it’s not like I was gonna go very far anyway, but oh well!”

    Stan looked down at the blonde who was wringing his hands as he talked. Stan coughed a little, raising an eyebrow. “You know, once you’re eighteen your parents can’t really ground you anymore.”

     Butters looked up at him with his big blue eyes and blinked a few times. “Huh. Well dang. It’s okay! I don’t mind. Oh boy, I can’t wait to tell the fellas about you being home! It’ll be just like old times! Bebe is throwin’ a party this weekend, and everyone’s invited. Well, everyone but Cartman. I, uh, I guess she’s still mad about him throwing up in her pantry last time. Kyle had to drive him to the hospital for alcohol poisoning! Pretty sure that everyone but Cartman will be there, so it will be pretty neat to catch up with everyone, right? Anyway! She said the party was about celebrating the beginning of Summer or somethin’. So I’m sure you’re invited too, Stan! Oh! Look at the time! My mom is gonna be real sore if I don't bring her some flour home soon. I’ll see ya later!”

     Stan stood there a whole minute, just trying to comprehend the whirlwind of info he just received. So not only did Butters, Cartman, Bebe, and others from high school still live in South Park, but apparently Kyle was there, too. There was a party coming up soon, and apparently Butters was going to tell everyone he was back in town-- crap. That was too much to deal with. He thought he would try to tell Kyle first, maybe confront him about not returning his emails, then talk to Kenny if he was still around, and then some of the others. If Butters told everyone, he’d be bombarded all at once. Besides, _he_ wanted to be the one to tell Kyle. He needed to stop him. Following in the direction that Butters took off to, he found him in an aisle, deliberating between two different types of flour.

     “Uh hey Butters? Can you not tell anyone I’m back in town?”

     “Oh uh, I’m not sure I can keep that from Ken. See, he’s my best friend and if he found out I knew and didn’t tell him, he’d be mighty hurt. So…”

     “Butters, please. I’ll let everyone know in time. I just-- I’m not sure how to go about it.”

     Butters thought about this for a moment, scuffing his shoe on the tile. “Well, if you promise to go to Bebe’s party, I’ll keep quiet. At least that way, everyone will know and I won’t have to keep stuff from Ken.”

     Stan knew that it was his best chance, so he took it immediately. “Yeah, sure,” he said, even though he fully knew he wouldn’t be going to that party. He just needed to figure his crap out and talk to his old friends in his own time. “Thanks Butters, I appreciate it,” he said, offering a small smile.

     “Ah don’t mention it! See you Friday night!” Butters said, grinning.

     “Yeah,” Stan said, feeling a little bad for the excited boy as he turned away.

     The rest of his shopping trip was a little bit of a blur. He got the items on his list, managing not to look up from his cart in fear that he’d run into someone else that might recognize him. _Like Kyle,_ his mind helpfully supplied.

     How would he start a conversation with him. _Hey, so how come you don’t email me anymore?_ Yeah, because _that_ would go well. To be fair, Kyle was probably too busy to reply, what with school and all. Though he _did_ still manage to come home to South Park every so often to visit, it seemed. So what was his damn excuse for not staying in touch with Stan?

     Stan had grabbed the little paper list so hard it crumpled in his hand. He sighed. Apparently he was more angry than he thought. Sure, Stan was busy with football and never able to come home, but he still made an effort to talk to Kyle. The six unanswered emails were proof of that. After the six, he’d stopped trying.

    To say that Stan wasn’t paying much attention would be an understatement. He was so caught up in the info that Kyle was somewhere in town _right now_ , he didn’t even look up until his cart crashed into someone else’s when he turned into the seasonings aisle. A few of the seasonings fell onto the floor, one rolling and hitting his shoe. He bent to pick it up, placing it on the shelf.

    “Ah man, sorry,” he said to the figure that was still picking up a few seasonings.

     The figure stood back up, placing them on the shelves meticulously. Without even seeing his face yet, the hair color alone made Stan’s heart jump into his throat: copper red, unruly, and a little on the longer side, framing his face like a mane.

     “Oh, no worries,” the man said, turning toward Stan with a smile. The man’s bright green eyes went wide as the smile fell from his face. His mouth dropped open just slightly. “Stan?” If he noticed Stan's injured knee, he didn't show it.

     Swallowing his rapidly thumping heart, Stan felt like the air was knocked from his lungs. Before he could even gather his bearings, Kyle’s mouth shut in a thin line and his eyes narrowed at him. Stan could have sworn he saw some other emotion flit through Kyle’s eyes, but whatever it was was gone now, traded for this guarded, angry expression.

     Immediately, he wanted to explain himself, but he was also angry, so the two emotions warred in his brain for a whole minute before his mouth spoke without his permission, apparently trying to explain.

     “Kyle, look, I--”

     “No Stan,” Kyle said curtly. “You don’t get to just show up and pretend we’re friends anymore. You decided that for us a long time ago.”

     Stan felt his own blue eyes narrow, anger in his chest and his arms. _Kyle_ of all people telling _him_ that he ruined their friendship? Stan huffed out an unamused laugh. “Yeah, that’s rich, coming from the one who wouldn’t reply to anything I had to say. You went off and got too busy to make time for me.”

     Kyle’s eyes went wide, incredulously, as his voice hiked up in volume. “ _Me?_ I’m always here. You’re the one who left South Park and just forgot about me! About all of us!”

     Stan felt his face grow warm when he realized people were staring. Kyle must have noticed too, because he lowered his voice back town to a hushed mutter. “I was waiting for you to come back home. On weekends, or holidays, or even during some sort of school break,” he spat out, looking down at the items in his own cart. He took a breath and began pushing his cart past Stan’s, pausing once they were nearly shoulder to shoulder. “But you never did. Not once. _You_ were the one who was _too busy._ So yeah, Stan. You made it real freakin’ clear where your priorities lie.”

     With that, Stan turned and watched as Kyle walked to one of the checkout counters, not once looking back. Stan was angry, absolutely, but anything he was going to say to Kyle flew out of his head the second he realized maybe he was a little at fault after all. He watched Kyle’s olive green coat pass through the doors to the parking lot.

     Belatedly, he realized that when Kyle passed him, he still smelled like cedar and apples. The thought just made him crumple up his grocery list and throw it down the now-empty aisle.

_Whatever_ , he thought to himself. If he was going to blame Stan, fine. Screw it. He sure as hell wasn’t going to go to the party, but he’d have a whole week to talk it over with Kenny. He pulled out his phone, searching through his contacts.

               Stan [09:44]: Hey man. is this still ur number Kenny? 

Kenny’s reply came almost instantly.

               Kenny [09:44]: As a matter of fact, it is. Is this the little lost lamb telling me he’s come home?

Stan rolled his eyes. Of course Butters already told Kenny. There’s no way that Kyle had already said something. Of course, maybe Kyle wouldn’t talk about it at all. It seemed he’d come to terms with Stan being out of his life forever. Stan sighed.

               Stan [09:46]: whatever, u gonna be home in like 20 mins?

               Kenny [09:47]: Sure, I will! Can’t wait.

    Stan made it home with no more issues, noticing with relief that the driveway of the Broflovski household was empty. He dropped off the groceries and decided to walk to Kenny’s, using both crutches instead of the one he used most of the time. If he was going to fall, it wasn't going to be from lack of balance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, as always! Comments let me know if I need to make changes or add things to the story. Let me know what you all think! ^_^;

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please comment and let me know what you think! ^o^


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